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SILENCE (2016) – Film Review

Rarely has a director of Martin Scorsese’s caliber tackled such weighty religious themes head-on with such heartfelt passion. As such, Silence is not an insignificant film. The
controversial story has, unsurprisingly, met with a wide variety of responses;
it has been called “one of the finest religious movies ever made,” as well as an egregious “subversion of the Christian faith.”

Since the movie came out last year, most everyone has had his
or her say. I’m not sure if anything new can be added to the voices that have
already spoken. Still, I didn’t get a chance to see Silence until recently, and, for what it’s worth, still wanted to
write down my thoughts. [Insert joke about me not wanting to remain silent
about Silence.]

WARNING: There is no way to deal with the thematic elements
of this film without revealing major spoilers. In fact, I’m going to enter
Spoiler Land and set up camp there. I might even start a fire and cook some
S’mores. Yes, this could get sticky.

As a reminder, I rate movies based on three criteria: potentially objectionable content (C), artistic
merit (A), and my personal opinions (P).

CONTENT (C): +8/-8, for a total of 0 out of 10

In this section of a movie review, I typically deal with
material that some might find offensive or problematic. In Silence, there is definitely violence involved in the torture of Japanese
villagers—although, with the exception of one swift beheading, there is very
little blood or gore involved.

The most controversial element of the film is how it handles
the topic of apostasy. Regarding that in particular, it seems fairly obvious that
Scorsese’s intentions are not to undermine the Christian faith. The ministry of
the gospel is taken seriously, as are sacrifices made by both Japanese and
European characters in the story. The hostility toward Christianity in the film
is shown for what it is: evil. At the end, the film is even explicitly
dedicated to “Japanese Christians and their pastors.”

To quote Steven D. Greydanus in his review of another controversial Scorsese film, “we must not be too quick to judge any particular portrait
of Christ [or His people] merely because it challenges our expectations or
makes us uncomfortable.” This sentiment applies to Silence as well. The movie makes us uncomfortable in different
ways—some good (hence, the positive content rating), and some bad (hence, the
negative—as well as the overall—content rating). I will explore the misfires in-depth
in the final section of this review.

ATRISTRY (A): 8 out of 10

Artistically speaking, there is little to critique. Silence is obviously a labor of love by
a gifted filmmaker. It received an Oscar nomination for cinematography (and
rightly so), but I think it deserves more—including, at the very least, Best
Picture and Best Supporting Actor for Liam Neeson. Even though Neeson’s role is
more of a glorified cameo, his performance as a compromised priest is infused
with a gravitas that arrests the viewer’s attention. He is, for
different reasons, both the best and the worst part about the movie. (I’ll
explain the “worst part” in more detail in just a minute.)

If more faith-based films displayed this level of artistry,
both in front of and behind the camera, the world would be a better place. Alas
and alack, that is not the case. In comparison with Silence,
the common faith-based film is utterly repugnant and artless—what one might
call enterdreckment.

I was surprised, however, by just how many continuity errors
there are in Silence. I have never
noticed so many instances in one movie before. They’re nothing to derail the film,
but they do stick out like…well, like a Caucasian priest in a Japanese village.

PREFERENCE (P): 5 out of 10

In some scenes, Silence
paints a fairly cut-and-dried picture of apostasy and martyrdom—especially when
the malicious government officials first appear on the scene. They command a
group of villagers to stamp on a fumie—softly, if necessary. They are told it
is “just a formality.” And yet when the villagers (including some who are
Christians) place their foot on the fumie, they do so with such little
conviction that the government authorities demand a further display of
apostasy: the villagers must spit on an image of the cross.

Why give a more harsh command if all they are looking for is
“just a formality”? Because they know what they are asking for is not a mere formality. By forsaking any
profession of faith, Christians are forsaking faith itself. And when the
Japanese believers are faced with a choice between denying their faith (by spitting
on an image of Christ) and dying, they choose to die.

Anyone familiar with the storyline of Silence is aware that “cut and dried” is not an adequate
description of the film as a whole. That is because additional variables are
involved when the priests themselves experience persecution. Their moral
dilemma is ghastly: renounce their faith publicly or watch as Japanese
villagers are tortured in their place.

The movie climaxes when the main protagonist, Father Rodrigues,
steps on a fumie himself. This act comes out of great anguish, and only after he
has been hounded by Ferreira (Liam Neeson), his former mentor who himself has
long since apostatized. Rather than arguing that it is “just a formality,” Ferreira
proposes that stepping on the fumie would actually be a meritorious act to save
innocent sufferers. “What would you do for them?” he asks. “Pray? And get what
in return? Only more suffering. A suffering only you can end. Not God!” Ferreira
even goes so far as to say, “To give up your faith is the most painful act of
love.” In a moment of intense temptation, these are seductive words. The whole
scene reminds me of Eve in the garden, or Christ in the desert, facing the
cunning deception of a crafty enemy. The outcome promised is certainly attractive.

Based on other reviews I have read, some people see this
moment in the film as a turning point for Rodrigues. His pride has become more
and more apparent to the audience, up until the point where he caves in and
apostatizes. This act shows him coming to the end of himself as he acknowledges
his limitations. By stepping on the fumie, he begins the process of crawling
out of the shell of his ethnocentrism, no longer seeing himself as the
imperialist savior of the people of Japan. His apostasy is, ironically, a
movement from pride to humility.

It is true that Rodrigues’ pride becomes more and more
apparent as the movie progresses. It shows up in a small statement here and
there. It is revealed in how he corrects the villagers in their pronunciation
of the word “paradise” so that they use the proper—i.e., European—term. Later
in the film, his pride becomes strikingly evident in how he reacts when coming
face-to-face with the apostasy of Ferreira. Rodrigues is not broken over
Ferreira’s compromises so much as he is condescendingly disgusted with them.
His initial response to Ferreira reveals not godly sorrow over a wounded (at
best) or lost (at worst) faith, but rather a haughty and worldly condemnation of
another human being.

However, I do not see Rodrigues’ apostasy as a character arc
from pride to humility. He is simply trading in one form of pride for another.
Before, his pride revealed itself in a type of messiah complex: he had an
inflated view of his perceptions and abilities in contrast with those of
others. There was never a possibility in his mind that anyone other than him
knew what was best. (One example is when he encourages a group of peasants to
consider stomping on a fumie to avoid persecution, to which another priest, Father
Garupe, rightly responds with correction.)

It is true that with his apostasy, Rodrigues’ confidence in
himself is, in a sense, shattered. As a result, what’s on the surface changes,
but what’s inside remains: pride. A pride that says it can renounce his faith
to serve his neighbor so that he may maintain his faith in service to his
neighbor. Rodrigues has decided to follow God and serve his fellow man on his
own terms. His arc is destructive, not redemptive. To quote Steven D. Greydanus again,
“Perhaps Silence is a true tragedy in
the classical sense, in which a virtuous man is undone by a fatal flaw.”

Yes, the situation is complicated
by the nature of the threat against Rodrigues and the other priests. They are
not given a simple and straightforward choice between denying the faith and
dying a martyr’s death; they are given the choice between denying the faith and
watching others suffer torture at their expense. It is an especially harsh and
sadistic burden forced on their shoulders. I do not wish to minimize the moral
and psychological anguish this places on them. Were I in Rodrigues’ shoes,
would I still stand firm? I can’t say for sure.

What I can say for sure is that
there is actually a third option, and it is the option taken by Father Garupe.
Rather than stand by as others are tortured in his stead, he rushes to the
rescue with such passionate selflessness that he himself is also killed. It is
not the glorious kind of death that Rodrigues would have wanted for himself,
but it is a glorious death from an eternal perspective: “Greater love has no
one than this, than to lay down one’s life for his friends” (John 15:13). In
his death, Garupe avoids being counted among those who have “trampled the Son
of God underfoot, counted the blood of the covenant by which he was sanctified
a common thing, and insulted the Spirit of grace” (Hebrews 10:29).

In stark contrast to Garupe’s
final moments, Rodrigues’ final years are described in the movie with these
words: “[he] never acknowledged the Christian God. Not by word or symbol. He
never spoke of him and never prayed.”

The ultimate problem with Silence is not that it asks us to sympathize with Rodrigues’
temptations and failings. Such sympathy is warranted. The ultimate problem with
Silence is that it leads the viewer
to not only sympathize with Rodrigues’ apostasy, but also to legitimize it. For
the rest of his life, Rodrigues is forced into repeated demonstrations of a
denial of his faith. We are asked to consider that these demonstrations can be,
as the Japanese officials claimed earlier on, just a formality.

Silence postulates
that it is possible to live an innocuous Christian life, in which all public
pretense of faith is stripped away. Whereas Christ condemned those who
repeatedly blessed God with their lips while their hearts were far from Him
(Mark 7:6), Scorsese asks us to at least consider approving of those who
repeatedly curse God with their lips (or feet) but whose hearts clandestinely draw near.
Such a prospect may seem attractive within our modern cultural milieu, but not
within the framework of historical Christianity.

At times, Scorsese has crafted works of art that have ended
up communicating something other than what he purposed. It appears that he did
not set out to blaspheme Christ with The
Last Temptation of Christ, but that ended up being the end result—a fact
which even Roger Ebert (who loved the film) conceded.
Scorsese did not attempt to glorify vice with The Wolf of Wall Street, but that ended up being an unintended consequence. Nuance and ambiguity gave way to inadvertent mixed
messages.

Similarly, Silence
does at times display nuance and ambiguity, but the denouement—including the
final shot of the film—settles not for complexity so much as a cacophony of
disjointed, and ultimately contradictory, sentiments. For these reasons, Silence unfortunately earns the lowest
movie rating I have yet given.

Comments

Rarely has a director of Martin Scorsese’s caliber tackled such weighty religious themes head-on with such heartfelt passion. As such, SILENCE is not an insignificant film. The controversial story has, unsurprisingly, met with a wide variety of responses; it has been called “one of the finest religious movies ever made,” as well as an egregious “subversion of the Christian faith.”

[This obligatory comment is designed to make Facebook recognize my article’s content. Thanks for your understanding.]

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